The Captain

I

‘Two cards,’said the Captain, through his nose.

‘Two?’ echoed the mate. ‘Hem!’

‘Two, Mr. Dimm.’

‘He’s bluffing again,’ thought the mate; then he said; ‘Pete, how about you?’

‘Gimme three.’

‘How many to you, Gus?’

‘One, sir.’

The mate helped himself to two cards. The Captain eyed him sharply.

‘Got something this time, Mr. Dimm?’

The mate’s smile was sickly.

‘It’s about time, sir. Twenty-five dollars gone already.’

‘I’ll make an honest bet,’ said the Captain, ‘so you can all get in on the pot.’

‘How much?’ inquired the mate nervously.

‘Five dollars, Mr. Dimm.’ The Captain moved five iron washers out in front of himself. ‘That’s the bet,’ he said; and murmured, ‘The wind is freshening a bit.’

The mate threw in his five washers gloomily. Pete and Gus wanted none of it.

‘Show down, Mr. Dimm.’

‘Three sixes, sir.’

The Captain’s heavy, hollow hand reached out and raked in the pot.

‘Mr. Dimm,’ he said, impressively, ‘you should stay out till you get something. Here’s three ladies for you to look at.’

The Nellie Swan was a five-masted, bald-headed schooner plying from the Columbia River to Guaymas in Mexico. During all the years that she had been in the trade she had had the same crew almost all the time.

‘All staying by her,’ was the Captain’s monotonous answer to the inquiries of the runners; so there was very little fuss when she came into port.

Furthermore the crew had the reputation of being a thrifty lot — hardheaded savers where the saloon men were concerned. How far is truth from conjecture! They were neither contented, thrifty, nor thirst-proof. They were always, in season and out, broke. They lived and breathed to balance, just once, accounts with the master of the schooner. The pay roll for them was but a transient illusion. Only the complaisant slop-chest and the ship’s good fare kept them from becoming clothingless, foodless, and tobaccoless.

The Nellie Swan, being without topmasts, furnished easy work for lazy sailors. They were a small crew — ten men before the mast, donkeyman, two mates, and a cook; but they had one noticeable trait in common: they were all good and persistent poker-players.

The Captain, a quiet little man with humor and strength written plainly on his clean-cut features, maintained steady discipline throughout the week, and it was only on Sundays that the rustle of cards and the clicking of washers would deafen the crew to other sounds. ‘Boys,’ he said, solemnly, ‘ I am going to help you out. Now,’ and he cleared his throat, ‘how much do you think your captain has to lose?’

All their week-days were spent, singly and in committee, scheming to beat him; all their evenings in reading thumb-worn books on poker. All in vain, for somehow the master would never play when the codes were working, and he continued to scrape up the washers, and to strangle a small pencil to trace out IOU’s for them to sign.

The desperation of years grew on them, and at last they got to the point where they sank beneath it. They decided in full meeting that the ways of a sailor were not those of a pokerplayer. Pete was for quitting altogether.

’He can beat us, and that settles it,’ he said.

‘I have an idea,’ said Gus; and they crowded about him. They were ever so keen on ideas.

‘How would it go,’ he whispered, ‘if one of us laid off ashore next voyage, and we shipped a real crooked gambler to get our money back?’

‘Could we trust him?’

‘Make him sign papers to share and share alike,’ said the ready Gus; ‘then you have him. I know the very man for you.’

‘What’s to become of the man who gives his berth to the gambler?’ asked Pete.

‘We can make a tarpaulin muster and get a few dollars for him before the ship leaves,’ Gus said; ‘that’ll get him grub and lodgings. Then he’ll get his pay ashore when we’ve cleaned the Captain.’

It was decided that they were to draw lots to determine who was to stay ashore. Pete cut rope-ends for lots, and when it fell to him to stay behind his bland looks were enough to dispel any wrinkle on the brow of a shipmate.

‘It’s the rheumatiz, sir; I can hardly move my joints at all.’ Pete demonstrated his painful stiffness beyond the possibility of a doubt.

‘Well, Pete,’ answered the Captain, ‘if you’re as badly off as that, perhaps you ‘re right. I’d hate to lose you, even for a voyage; but you’d better stay ashore for one trip.’

The next day, when the Nellie Swan was tied up to a lumber wharf, the Captain called the crew aft.

‘We’ll pay off now, men,’ said he.

Some of them had as much as seven dollars due them for a three months’ trip. They took what was coming goodnaturedly. There was an unusual conquering glow in their eyes.

In due time the schooner was loaded ready for the voyage south. As the hour of departure drew on, Pete developed a touchiness that was the despair of the crew; and they were hard put to it to give him enough assurances of good faith to lull the suspicions that arose in his eyes and manner.

‘You’re getting so a man can’t talk to you,’ said Gus, sorrowfully. ‘Of course we ‘ll bring back your share to you. You’ll be here to meet us, won’t you?’

‘It’s all right about you, but how about the gambler? When’s he going to sign up?’

‘That won’t be necessary at all,’said Gus, heartily; ‘he’s as honest as the day is long. He’s not a shark. He’s rolling in money now, and only coming along to oblige us.’

‘Is he handy with the cards, Gus?’

‘Handy is n’t the word for it, Pete. He pretty nearly makes ‘em talk!'

That night, in the shadow of the wharf lights, the gambler was sneaked aboard the Nellie Swan. He was fat and fairly tall, with a white skin and black hair. Pete, having successfully manœuvred to obtain the Captain’s permission to ship his ‘ friend,’ was there to look him over.

He gave each of the men a warm handclasp.

‘Thousands!’ they answered, with one voice.

The crook smiled, and lit a cigar.

’Do you think you can get it?’ asked Pete anxiously.

‘I’ll show you my work.’ The gambler selected one from many packs of cards in his bag, and commenced to shuffle and deal them. ‘Draw to your hands,’ he commanded. ‘I don’t want any. Show down.’

He held a pat flush.

Pete smiled. ‘You’re a dandy.’

Next morning the Nellie Swan left port. The crew were wreathed in smiles. The sails went up as never before; some sang, others whistled, peace and discipline ruled fore and aft. Most of all they were considerate of their Captain. He, the prize, must not come to harm.

‘Let me do that, sir’; ‘Yes, sir’; ‘No, sir,’ they’d say, till he wondered what had come over his crew. He called the mate’s attention to them.

Mr. Dimm, all unknowing, said it was their good-nature.

‘They have been here so long they are just like ourselves.’

‘How’s the new fellow?’

‘A bit soft yet, but the crew seem to have taken a fancy to him.’

As the schooner headed south, and the first Sunday came, the crew and master played a little poker — a tame game, in which the crew, as usual, lost.

‘They’ll warm up to it,’ thought the Captain; ‘they’re a bit stingy starting a new voyage.’

The gambler, under the watchful eye of Gus, was not to be allowed to show his skill until the return voyage, which would be without a stop. They did n’t quite trust him.

But the third Sunday out, when the Nellie Swan had rounded Cape St. Lucas, and headed north in the warm Gulf of California, they had a game, and the gambler, ignoring the crew, picked the Captain off for two hundred dollars. How he did it, the crew did n’t know, or the Captain either.

In the forecastle, afterward, the crew forgave him, and it was agreed that the money should be kept in the forecastle under his pillow, he assuring them that he would put a head bandage on anyone who touched it till the end of the voyage. The best they could do was to sit around and look at the bunk, an occupation of which they never seemed to tire.

In less than a week more the Nellie Swan was unloading lumber in Guaymas, and scantlings and boards fairly flew from her. There was no gambling while they were in port; and if the Captain felt any regret at losing his money, he did not show it. Nevertheless, as he came and went to and from the schooner, his eye would seek out the new sailor and rest on him with a kind of speculative yearning that showed that the Prince of the Forecastle had attracted his attention.

II

When the Nellie Swan left Guaymas, the crew were as happy as children. Their plans for spending the Captain’s money were all made, and the week-day nights before the first game were spent philosophizing on the benefit that the long accumulation would be to them.

Sunday the game on the main hatch finished with the cook’s gong. The crew were cleaned, their IOU’s in wages going to the gambler, for subsequent division. The Captain also was a heavy loser, but in real money. The gambler insisted that money talked, and the crew applauded, silently. Mr. Dimm would n’t play, but looked on and shook his head, wondering what had happened to the skipper’s luck.

The master’s losings did n’t seem to bother him as he rose from the hatch and stretched; but there was a hint of action in the single glance he gave the gambler as he walked past him on his way to his cabin for supper.

In the forecastle the sailors brought the gambler his supper, and apologized that so great a man should have to stoop to common fare. The winnings being tucked under his pillow, he set himself to entertain the crew with golden boasts, which held them spellbound until the last trace of a tired sun had sought refuge in the sea.

Their last Sunday out was the day of the great tryout between the gambler and the Captain. Wild excitement pervaded the forecastle. The crew had made various excuses to the Captain, who seemed to think nothing amiss of their sudden denial of the game. Now they were doing everything that could humanly be done to send the gambler to the test groomed like a race horse for the run.

‘Fetch him out,’ said one voice, gruff with anxiety.

‘Put his muffler on,’ urged a second; ‘he might catch cold.’

It was indeed cooler, for the Nellie Swan had come into northern latitudes, and it was the fall of the year. Squally weather was threatening, and the sea ran like molten metal cooling off. The main hatch could no longer be used as a poker-table, and the Captain invited the gambler into the cabin to play — a move affording him great satisfaction, and the crew equal discomfiture.

There was nothing for it but to await eight bells; and when noon brought the gambler to the forecastle with a monstrous pile of gold, they felt that their waiting had not been in vain.

But all was not beer and skittles for the gambler. It had happened that his luck had run a trifle suspiciously to the good, and the Captain took advantage of that moment when the schooner started to pound and dive and list away to leeward, to lay down his hand and get up from the table.

‘ I guess we ‘re running into bad weather,’ he said innocently.

He walked over to the bulkhead where the barometer hung. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw cards being pulled up the sleeve of the man at the table as if by some unearthly hand.

‘The barometer is falling,’ he said, ‘we’re in for a blow. We’ll play this hand out before I go on deck to get my noon position.’

The gambler was n’t enough of a sailor either to scent a suppressed storminess in the Captain’s voice, or a threat in his unusual politeness.

‘You’ll play this afternoon?’ he asked, greedily.

‘After lunch,’ said the Captain, going up on deck with his sextant, leaving his piles of gold for the gambler to take forward to the crew.

The southwest wind was increasing, and the sea was coming up. The Nellie Swan, with a free sheet, was racing away for the land.

‘It’s a bad place to be caught in a blow,’ said the Captain.

‘T is that,’ said the second mate, whose watch it was, wiping the spray from his face.

‘We ought to make the mouth of the Columbia River between three and four o’clock.’

‘It’ll be bad if we can’t make it — we’ll be on a lee shore. It might be safer after all to heave to out here, while we have plenty of sea room, and ride the gale out.’

‘No,’ said the Captain, ‘we ‘ll take a chance and run for the river. Get everything ready, in case we have to shorten sail.'

At one o’clock the decks were awash, and the schooner was pitching the waves high over her hull. Gus escorted the storm-frightened gambler aft to the cabin.

The Captain put away a chart he was looking at.

‘Oh, you want to play,’ he said, unconcernedly, but his hands trembled. He locked the cabin doors, pulled off his coat, and threw it across a chair. Then he rolled up his sleeves to the elbows of his hairy arms. A large American flag was tattooed across his right forearm, and, as if there were danger of losing it, a ship’s anchor and chain moored it down to the wrist.

The gambler moved uneasily in his chair; the ocean spray went splash against the cabin windows, the ceiling paneling squeaked.

‘Take off your coat,’ said the Captain, ‘and roll up your sleeves. You’ll feel more comfortable.’

The gambler grew pale; it dawned upon him that the Captain was wiser than he thought. He smiled a crackedclay smile.

‘I’m not going to take my coat off,’ he said, ‘and I’m not going to play.

I’m going back to the forecastle. Unlock the door.’

‘You ‘re a cheater, and you know it,’ said the Captain; ‘you’re going to play, and you’re going to play fair.’

The gambler made a lunge for the door.

‘ Oh no you don’t! ‘— the Captain had him by the throat with both hands, — ‘Take your coat off! ‘

The gambler fought; but the Captain held on to his throat till he wilted like a sun-parched seaweed. He threw him to the cabin floor, stripped him of his coat, and threw open his shirt. There, as he guessed he would, he found the ghostly hand — a mechanical device that was strapped around the chest. It had a spring attachment running down his sleeve, ending in a delicate steel clip under the cuff, which would hold and release cards at will. The Captain’s eyes bulged when he saw that it held two aces.

A knock came on the cabin door.

‘Get up!’ ordered the Captain, throwing the apparatus on the cabin table.

As the gambler rose and swayed stiffly to a chair, the Captain opened the door.

‘What is it, Mr. Dimm?’

‘It’s blowing a gale, sir; the sea is running high, and the schooner has too much sail on her.’

The master locked the door behind him, and jumped to the deck. At a glance he took in storm, sea, and ship.

‘Call all hands,’ he shouted; ‘take in the jigger and spanker. Hurry, Mr. Dimm! Don’t let her broach to, whatever you do,’ he cautioned the man at the wheel.

The Nellie Swan, with sea and gale abeam, was burying herself in foam.

‘Damn the storm!’ the Captain muttered to himself, and his eyes cursed the salty sea.

In the cabin the gambler rubbed the kinks out of his stretched neck. He looked at his holdout, as it lay on the cabin table, and pushed it from him in disgust. The sound of flapping sails frightened him. The schooner was vibrating as if some gigantic hammer were pounding her. He caught up his coat from the floor and put it on. The thought of the bag of gold in the forecastle was outdoing the horror of danger. He made a dash for the window and opened it. It was too small to be of use for his escape. With all his power he shouted, —

‘Split the money, and hold on to it! ‘

His voice was instantly lost in the storm, and the sailors, busy furling the sails and ignorant of his extremity, waved affectionate greetings. A dash of water forced his head in, and he closed the window.

The schooner rode more easily now, with the jigger and spanker furled. But the Captain looked worried as he told the mates to let her run another twenty miles, to see if she would n’t pick up Cape Disappointment.

‘ Keep a sharp lookout; it’s hazy, Mr. Dimm; anyway, call me when she’s made twenty miles on the log.’

With another glance at the weather, he walked down the companionway and unlocked the door.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘are you ready to play?’

‘I’ll play,’ said the gambler sulkily.

‘A hundred-dollar ante, and jacks or better.’

The whites of the gambler’s eyes rose and fell with the motion of the schooner.

‘A hundred-dollar ante— Hell! I’ll not play a game like that. Make it five dollars.’

‘Oh no,’ answered the Captain, ‘I like a fast game. Anyway we may be on the rocks in an hour and our fun be spoiled.’ His serious look sent a shudder through the crook.

‘ I ‘ll have to get my money from the forecastle,’ he said.

‘Never mind your money; I’ll keep the score in my book.’

The Captain walked into his room, and took all the money he had left from a small safe. It amounted to a few hundred dollars.

‘If I lose this, he’ll win it honestly,’ he thought.

The roar of the storm outside, the tramp, tramp of the mates’ feet, wrought a fear in him far greater than the fear of losing again to the crew who would so seek to humiliate their Captain. After all, their lives were his to guard, and his was the responsibility to save them from the mangling treachery of a lee shore. Twenty miles, — so little space, before he could know what awaited them all. Twenty miles, and part of it gone already. The more need for action then. Time to play swiftly, to dispose of that thing at the table one way or the other, forever.

The gambler felt that this was no time for change of habit. Money under his eyes meant more than written records. He made a sacrifice. From his pocket he pulled a dirty bandanna handkerchief. It contained three hundred dollars, held out of the forecastle winnings.

They played half an hour, their grim faces showing the strain. Luck was with the gambler. The Captain, bare-armed and bare-headed, showed calculating coolness.

A patter of running feet and the excited sound of men’s voices stopped the game once more. The Captain jumped to the door, opened it, closed and locked it, and ran to the deck. The sea looked as if a deep fall of snow had settled on it and the gale were turning it into drifts. On the port bow Cape Disappointment, like a drab coffin, stuck out cold and dangerous. He ran to the break of the poop.

‘Stand by your sheets!’ he roared, and then raced aft to the wheel.

‘Put your helm down, and let her come up to the wind!’ He braced himself with legs apart as the Nellie Swan breasted the seas and headed up into the teeth of the gale. The waves had no mercy on her now. The weather bow was the bulwark. They slid over that, rolling green on the decks. Rain commenced to fall. The gray cape disappeared in the murky haziness of the land. The crew sheltered themselves in the lee of the galley. Quiet and solemn they were, trusting their Captain in that plain simplicity which is the everlasting bond of the sea.

The Captain looked over the stern. His lips moved.

‘ This will never do. She’s got to have more sail. Reef the spanker and set it!’ he commanded the mate. His voice trembled.

‘ She ‘ll never stand it, sir, she ‘ll turn turtle first! ‘

‘Reef the spanker, and set it, Mr. Dimm! ‘

When the sail went on her, she reeled like a drunken man, but nevertheless she gathered speed offshore. Instantly the Captain’s mind reverted to the poker game.

‘Keep her full and bye,’ he told the mates; ‘ don’t let her lose steerage-way.'

Then he dived down into the cabin.

The gambler stood looking at the fallen cards and money. He was clutching the table; his yellow face and starting eyes spoke for themselves.

The Captain fitted a storm-rack to the table, and put the cards and money back.

‘Deal,’ he said, calmly.

The gambler dealt with one hand; and night set in while the storm raged and the Nellie Swan fought for open sea. Every few minutes the Captain ran to the deck to encourage the mates and the man at the wheel.

‘She’s making it now,’ he told them, at last; ‘the gale is letting up a little. At eight bells we’ll tack ship.’

As if he were being rewarded for his defiance of the ocean, luck at the game now came to the Captain. He won steadily. The gambler demanded his money from the forecastle. He must have it, he whimpered.

‘You shall have it,’ and again the Captain ran to the deck.

‘Mr. Dimm,’ he called, ‘reive a lifeline fore and aft the main deck. Have some of the crew go to the Greenhorn’s bunk and fetch his money aft.’

‘What’s come over him now?’

thought Gus, as he and two others struggled along the slippery deck with their precious cargo. Their backs were humped and their mouths watery. With trembling, shivery bodies they handed the bag to the Captain.

They pressed their clammy faces against the cabin windows and watched the players. What they saw weazened their souls, and they slunk forward like wet rats to dry holes.

The sun was shining on the Portland docks, and a wisp of an angry tug was screeching for a right of way. Behind her, fastened by a towline, rode the Nellie Swan. Her Captain briskly walked the poop, crisply smiling.

On the wharf was Pete, a drizzly look on his face; for all his greetings to the crew went unacknowledged. They never even so much as waved a hand at him. On the contrary, they moved as if they had heavy weights on them; their pocket faces seemed locked in sullenness.

When the schooner made the wharf, the gambler jumped ashore. He made his way, coyote-like, through the lumber piles, and on into the city.

Pete went on board.

‘Back again, eh, Pete?’ said the Captain seriously. ‘All well now?’

‘Never felt better, sir. I’ve had enough of land and lubbers.’

‘Call the crew aft, Pete; I’m going to pay off. You come too.’

A rusty moisture came into Pete’s eyes. ‘I will, sir.’

The crew lined up. They answered their names shiveringly, and when each man, even to Pete, had been paid off in full for the voyage, they just could n’t thank him.

A little later, in the forecastle, Gus spoke.

‘Pete, I’m goin’ and get the Old Man a present.’

‘Damned if I don’t go with you.’